Mrs. Hanson looked wearily around the room. Her mind clouded with thoughts of her husband… her children.

A deep and sad sigh escaped her mouth without notice. It was an occurrence that happened daily. As if it were part of her mind-numbing routine or something.

The tears were no longer there; she had gotten that far. Farther than she had gotten. Her sense of sadness had dug deeper than loss. She had managed to hit the well of all human suffering. That well had sucked her dry. Dryer than anyone had realized, until it was too late.

The two letters that rested in her lap were both precious and terrifying to her. The letters were written to Jesus from her daughter. Her own flesh and blood. A child whom she had carried in herself for so many months, and yet she had shown no love towards her…

Evidently she was wrong, she hadn't cried out all her tears. For two slipped out from under her closed eyelids and slid down slowly on her aging cheek. Painstakingly, she raised a thin hand and removed the wetness from her face. She deserved no pity, no forgiveness for what she had done. She had become a monster, a cruel being to those who had showered her with only love and kindness.

A deep groan of self-hatred erupted from her throat. She could not wash away the look of contempt her oldest son had given her when he handed over the two letters. She couldn't wipe away the grim and deep sadness that seemed buried deep in his dark eyes.

But nothing had prepared her for the way her own husband had treated her. Refusing to look into her eyes, talking to her with distance plaguing his voice and words, as if she were a mere stranger he was only being polite to.

Collecting her thoughts and breath, Diana Hanson raised her pen to the light blue stationary on the tabletop in front of her. Ideas paraded in her mind, cluttering up her thoughts, and making her forget of the letter she was going to write to her family. In hopes of gaining some connection with them again.

Instead her hand started writing with its own will.

Dear Mister Jesus,

I am Diana Hanson, and I am aware that my daughter Avery has written to you twice. It seems that upon writing you she had gotten the help she needed and deserved. My writing to you pledges the same case.

I had hit one of my daughter's and my oldest son. Not once, but several times. I am ashamed to admit it now, because I know I must have struck fear in them both when I struck them with my hand it seems so long ago.

Knowing that what I have done, I can give no excuses, no reasons. Although I'm sure if given enough time, (which I have been) I can think of a dozen. I beg for your forgiveness, and my children's too. Looking back now, and realizing I have caused such pain upon my family makes my heart hurt.

I beg of you to show some mercy, while I cannot ask that of my family.

Diana Hanson

Grabbing the long white envelope, Diana folded and stuffed the letter inside. Grimacing as she licked the glue, she smiled in satisfaction as she laid the object on the table.

Then, suddenly grabbing her pen once again, she wrote across the front of the envelope.

Her mind eased considerably, and she stood from her seat and walk to the large window. Looking out, she let her mind drift away from the letter she just wrote.

Across the front of the white casing, her hand had scrawled: